Walls
by ElleOL
Summary: Captain Jack Harkness is always lying to himself. And as a dying Welshman lies in his arms, will he be any different? Children of Earth: Day Four, Jack/Ianto


**This has sort of turned into something more than the drabble it was intended to be. I hope you like this, I sort of woke up this morning inspired so had to type at a thousand miles an hour. Sorry if there are any mistakes in advance. Basically about Captain Jack Harkness and Ianto Jones, but I suppose I explore both the character and the relationship a bit more. Have you ever noticed that the Captain and Jack are two different people? Just so you all know, this isn't implying that I'm a Janto fan, and I don't particularly ship them but was heartbroken when I watched Children of Earth: Day Four when it first came out. I love both characters individually, but I couldn't ship them together when I knew that it was a onesided relationship. FAIL UNREQUITED LOVE. EPIC FAIL. I hope you enjoy this, guys, it's only a one shot. Please try to review, I'd love to hear your thoughts about this! And receive some complimentary Ianto Jones Coffee and Captain Jack Harkness Bananas (whey ;D) when you do! Much love, I hope you enjoy it! :) ElzBelz01.**

**Listening to:** Look After You - The Fray  
**Inspired by:** How to Save a Life - The Fray

* * *

Walls

"I love you."

Above all the screams of terror, sirens blaring bloodshed and mayhem cackling his evil laugh around you, you hear the Welshman's croak in your arms. And as the tears you've fought back begin to seep through, you stare into his eyes: gorgeous, scared, desperate, but completely genuine.

You want to tell him you love him, but you can't bring yourself to. And you're in the same position again: the time in which the brave Captain, the brave leader, must make a choice: face your own truths or continue to live in a life of defiance to any emotion.

It's like telling the Doctor that you miss him every day; that you want him back every waking moment.

Or telling Rose that she's more beautiful than any Rose, any Sun he's ever seen; and you'd laugh and add in that you'd seen a few, before looking into her eyes and telling her you love her.

The poisonous gas begins seeping into you, and you begin to feel faint.

It's like telling Gwen that when she chose Rhys, you broke. The one person you tried to let in pushed away. You'd ask why: was she scared of what she might find? Or didn't she want you back?

It's like telling Tosh and Owen that you're sorry: sorry you'd let them down over so many years, sorry you'd brought them into the destructive life that is Torchwood.

It's like telling your team you love them, you're my best friends you'd say, and they'd frown and laugh at your soft core shining through the harsh defences.

Your mind distorts: begins to merge into mutilated fuzz and your thoughts melt together.

Sorry Estelle, sorry you weren't there fast enough. Sorry Rhys, sorry you ruined his life: his home, his wife, and his job, what made him_ him_. You'd say sorry to Suzy, John Ellis, Beth the Sleeper Agent, sorry to everyone you'd ever hurt, frayed, beaten; taken apart piece by piece, worn them away until there was nothing left of what they were.

You don't want to lose him, with him you're...happier. You've found meaning when you believed there wasn't any: when the world fell down he sat beside you, took your hand, told you it would be okay. And you had listened.

When you felt colder at night and woke up from another restless dream, you'd find him lying next to you, limbs tangled with yours, binding you together. Mostly, you'd untangle yourself and pull away to drown yourself in work, but sometimes, you'd stay.

Sometimes you'd come back from a tiring day at work, and you'd want nothing more than to be alone; drink until you cry and cry until you fall asleep. But he would be sitting there, a cup of coffee held out to you like a beacon of peace, and he'd make you sit down and tell him about your day. You'd never cry, because that's not what the Captain does, but you would do it: you'd talk.

When you were aware that he was getting too close; too near to the real Captain, you held still. Maybe it wasn't so bad if you let one person in?

And every now and then he'd let it slip how he felt: he was committed to your every being and you found him a recreational activity, but you wouldn't say anything. You'd let it go.

Your lungs are heavy, and getting tighter by the second. Tears shine on your eyes.

He taught you to not be scared of death, to laugh without actually forcing it out of your lungs.

He taught you to talk to someone, to touch when you needed his warmth, and to breathe once in a while.

He taught you to cry when you needed to deflate the Captain, to accept your faults and others', to forgive, to release yourself: release the fear.

He taught you to have faith, to surrender.

And your heart constricts painfully when you realise: when you finally realise.

He taught you to love.

You cling to his body just as he clings to you, just as you have done so many times before. You kid yourself that this time is no different than the others.

And when you stare into the man's eyes, you realise that you can't tell him, how could you? You can't save him anymore, and he knows it; if there's nothing worth fighting for, it isn't worth fighting. So you won't say anything, because when he leaves you, you'll be left alone again, and you have to experience loss and pain and the torturous days in which you look into the archives and find it cold and damp and think of _him_. No, you'll be selfish, and pretend that you're not losing something; tell yourself that you can't endure the pain when there wasn't an antagonist.

And he stares into your eyes, his hand gripping tightly to you: his one chance at life. His eyes shine and a stray tear falls down his cheek. You wipe it away with your sleeve slowly. That's it, Captain, you grit your teeth, wipe away the pain.

He waits for a response.

Darkness lurks at the edges of your vision now, taunting you playfully: waiting for you to join it once again. Once again someone is joining you there, but you know that only you can emerge from its thirsty frenzied grip.

And you can't help but submerge yourself in your defensive walls again: cower into your hollow being and wait until the storm has passed. You open your mouth, choke back your tears and honesty and stare into his eyes.

You lie to the dying man.

"Don't."

The funny thing is, you're both dying.

_That's the point actually. Both in fiction and in life. When someone dies you lose all that potential. You grieve over everything they could have been. Everything you hoped for them. Everything they might have achieved with their lives, everyone they could have loved. Every job they could have had. Every joy they could have had. It's gone._

_-- Russell T. Davies  
_

**Review and I don't think it's possible for me to love you more. You're in the league with my Torchwood love**


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